


When the Devil Comes to Plead

by SerotoninUp



Series: Sero's Den of Sin [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Deal With the Devil, Episode: s03e22 All Hands On Decker, F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vaginal Sex, maybe just a little bit of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninUp/pseuds/SerotoninUp
Summary: After Ella kicks everyone off the party bus, Chloe goes home and breaks up with Marcus.But first, she takes a detour to LUX.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Sero's Den of Sin [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2084199
Comments: 57
Kudos: 349





	When the Devil Comes to Plead

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the lyrics to "Won't Go Down Easy" by Jaxson Gamble.

“So, where to?” the bus driver asks her.

Chloe bites her lip, considering her options. Her party had ended disastrously, but a quick glance at her phone tells her it isn’t even eleven o’clock yet. Ella had told Marcus in no uncertain terms that a good bachelorette party concluded with the hungover, disheveled bride staggering through the front door no earlier than 6 a.m. 

_So don’t wait up,_ had been Ella’s exact words.

But nothing is stopping Chloe from going home early anyway and surprising him with an armful of tipsy fiancée. Trixie’s at a sleepover, so they’d have the entire night to do whatever they want.

The thought doesn’t appeal to her as much as it should. Chloe can’t face him like this, with her doubts and hesitations simmering just below the surface of her thoughts. They could bubble up out of her mouth all too easily, and she isn’t ready for that, not yet. So where to go in the meantime?

She definitely doesn’t want to drink any more. Her head already twinges with the beginnings of a truly magnificent headache, courtesy of all those tequila shots Charlotte had plied her with.

She wants to go somewhere comfortable, somewhere she can relax. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere safe.

“Do you know where LUX is?” she asks, surprising herself.

The bus driver chuckles. “I sure do.”

* * *

As always, a line snakes out of LUX’s doors and around the building, and as always, the bouncer lets Chloe through with a smile and a nod.

Inside, the crowd packs the room from wall to wall, the bass pounding and the liquor flowing. Chloe’s headache doubles its efforts, and she winces at the bright, flashing lights and loud music. She leans against the railing at the top of the stairs and scans the floor, looking for Lucifer’s familiar figure, but finds it impossible to single him out in the mass of writhing bodies below.

“Boss is upstairs, Detective Decker,” a passing server calls out, and Chloe flashes her a grateful smile before escaping to the blissful silence of the elevator.

As the elevator climbs to the top floor, she finger-combs her hair, then glances down at her outfit to see if it needs any last-minute adjustments. Her own bobble-headed face stares up at her, and she realizes she still wears her bachelorette t-shirt, with _Lil Miss Can’t Behave_ scrawled across the back.

“Shit,” Chloe hisses, and tugs the shirt off, incredibly grateful that she left her blouse underneath it. She wads up the shirt and shoves it in the corner of the elevator, hoping Lucifer won’t notice it.

The elevator rolls to a stop, and the doors slide open. She steps cautiously into the penthouse and catches sight of Lucifer immediately. He reclines on the L of the couch, long legs crossed at the ankles, a glass of something amber and undoubtedly expensive in his hand. He’s foregone his usual jacket and vest, and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows.

And he’s barefoot, a small detail that surprises her. She’s seen him naked and in various states of undress before, but she’s never caught him like this, so relaxed, wrapped up in a cocoon of solitude. She’s never felt unwelcome in the penthouse—Lucifer already made it clear on multiple occasions that his door is always open to her—but walking in on this casually intimate moment almost seems like an invasion of his privacy.

Lucifer turns his head at the sound of her arrival, and then he leaps to his feet, smiling.

“Detective!” he exclaims. “This is an unexpected surprise.”

She smiles back at him, relieved that he seems genuinely pleased to see her.

“Hey, Lucifer,” she says.

He tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows. “It’s a bit late for a new case, isn’t it, Detective? And—” he stumbles over his next words, struggling to force them out. “And aren’t you supposed to be out celebrating right now, anyway?”

Chloe shrugs, suddenly awkward at the mention of her ill-fated party. “Well, Maze and Linda got into it, and Charlotte was being weird, so Ella kicked everyone off the party bus. I guess to give me some space? And then the driver asked me where I wanted to go.”

He blinks at her, baffled. “And you chose to come here?”

She’s not sure how to respond to that, how to explain to him that her lowest moments always bring her here, from that first night she showed up drunk after receiving that break-up text from Dan, to her impromptu birthday party during Lucifer’s second Vegas jaunt. Whenever her heart hurts, whenever she needs comfort, she finds herself here, seeking him out.

Not that she’d ever tell him that. He’d never let her live it down.

“I like it here,” she says, feigning nonchalance. “The view is killer, and the booze is top-shelf.”

Lucifer grins at that, and walks across the room to slip behind the bar. He selects a bottle and tilts it invitingly toward her. “Can I get you a drink, then?”

She sighs and toes off her shoes, leaving them by the elevator, then follows him to the bar, leaning on her elbows on the countertop opposite him. “Thanks, but no. I think I’ve had enough for one night.”

He hands her a tall glass of water instead, and waits until she chugs half of it in one go and sets the glass down before he speaks, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “You didn’t want to be with… him?”

Her stomach drops at the thought of Marcus. She didn’t text him when she made the split-second decision to come here. She doubts he’d like the idea of her and Lucifer alone in the penthouse, although she’s never given Marcus reason not to trust her around Lucifer. If anything, Lucifer’s recent bout of jealous, immature behavior only drove home what a terrible candidate he is for a serious relationship—not that she needs any further proof of that. After all, the one time they tried to move in that direction, Lucifer had panicked at the first major hurdle and run off to Vegas to marry a stripper.

Lucifer’s hand settles over hers, and she startles, only now realizing that she’s been worrying at her engagement ring, lost in her own thoughts. Her fingers go still beneath his touch.

“Are you okay, Detective?”

“I’m…” _fine,_ she wants to say, but lying never comes easily to her with Lucifer, maybe because of his insistence that he never lies—although he doesn’t always tell the whole truth, either. But honesty is a point of pride for him, and it seems only fair that she extends him the same courtesy. A commitment-phobe like Lucifer might actually understand her doubts about this whole marriage thing. He’d had his own marriage annulled after just two weeks. And friends help each other out, right? It would be nice to have someone to commiserate with her, someone who won’t judge her for having second thoughts.

“I’m nervous,” she admits, glancing up at him. “This is all happening so fast.”

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and his fingers tighten around his glass. He swallows the rest of its contents, and the empty tumbler clatters gracelessly against the countertop as he sets it down. Chloe watches, suddenly wary. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything, after all.

“Well, Detective,” Lucifer says, a humorless smile twisting across his face. “I did try to dissuade you from making such a spectacularly bad decision.”

A tiny ember of indignation blooms in her chest, quickly overshadowing the hurt that flashes through her at his words.

“Really, Lucifer?” she says, glaring at him. “I open up to you and all you can say is ‘I told you so’?”

“What would you like me to say?” he asks, throwing out his hands in frustration. “Would you like me to lie? Say you’ve got nothing to worry about?” He shakes his head and presses his lips together in a thin line before he turns away from her, as if to prevent himself from speaking further.

“I didn’t come here to fight with you,” Chloe says, her voice small.

Lucifer spins on his heel to face her once more, his mouth open to voice some no-doubt scathing response. But something about her expression must stop him; instead of speaking, he closes his mouth and slowly walks out from behind the bar.

Chloe turns on the spot to keep him in her line of sight, the cold edge of the countertop pressing against her spine. But he doesn’t head toward the couch, or the balcony, or the piano. He simply stops a few feet in front of her, his expression contemplative.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says. “A deal, if you will.”

Chloe’s pulse quickens. “Oh?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, but his eyes are solemn as he takes another step closer to her. And another, until he stands only inches away from her. He settles his hands on her upper arms, and she finds herself gripping the edge of the counter behind her, alarm bells ringing in her head.

For all that he’s driven her crazy over the past several weeks, she still finds herself drawn to him. She’s engaged, not blind, and Lucifer exudes sex appeal as easily as he breathes. Her skin tingles where his hands lie, their heat searing even through the sleeves of her blouse.

And it’s wrong, all wrong, because she _is_ engaged, and Marcus trusts her, and toeing the line of propriety with another man is no way to start a marriage.

Lucifer presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, a surprisingly chaste and sweet gesture, and it shouldn’t send a shiver all the way down to her toes, but it does. She breathes in the familiar scent of him, smoke and spice, and it does nothing to quell the ripples of anticipation that curl through her belly.

“Spend one night with me,” he murmurs into the quiet space between them. “Just one. If tomorrow comes and you still want to marry him, I won’t speak another word against it.”

Chloe sucks in a shocked breath. She’s used to Lucifer coming on to her with a smirk on his face as they traipse through crime scenes or slog through paperwork at the precinct. In daylight, in public, surrounded by people, it’s easy to ignore him, to roll her eyes at him or swat him with a case file, and those moments are few and far between these days, anyway.

It’s another thing entirely to have him alone in his penthouse with his hands on her, to have him so thoroughly surround her with his sinfully smooth voice and intoxicating scent, his body so close to hers that she can hear each quiet breath he takes. The tension filling the narrow gap between them is so thick it’s nearly tangible.

Chloe shakes her head, then lays her hands against his chest, trying to keep some distance between them, a barrier to prevent her from making another rash decision. She shouldn’t have come here. She should have known better than to think of him as a safe haven. He clouds her thoughts and her judgment far too easily.

“I don’t need your blessing, Lucifer. And I don’t need to prove anything by sleeping with you.”

His heart beats a steady rhythm beneath her palm. She doesn't dare raise her eyes to look at him, all too aware of how close he is. Instead, she stares resolutely at the smattering of freckles that decorate the hollow of his throat, and tries not to think about how soft his skin would feel against her lips if she chose to lean forward and press a kiss to that tender spot.

Lucifer lifts one hand to nudge beneath her chin, tilting her face upward until her eyes meet his. For a long moment, they simply stand in silence and consider each other.

“What _do_ you need, Chloe?” he asks, and she shudders, wondering if he knows exactly what the rare sound of her name in his mouth does to her, the way it runs through her like a jolt of electricity. Just for a second, as she holds his gaze, she allows herself to imagine his hands stripping her clothes off, his mouth hot and hungry on hers, the weight of him pressing her down against his ridiculously comfortable bed sheets.

And standing this close, with every one of her senses overwhelmed by him, Chloe finally wavers.

She stretches up onto her toes and brushes her lips against his, and Lucifer makes a small, surprised sound in the back of his throat. She waits for the guilt to consume her, but there is none, only an immeasurable relief that she can finally stop pretending she doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want _him._

“Are you sure?” he asks, abruptly stepping away from her to hold her at arm’s length. He watches her face carefully, as if he expects to catch her in a moment of hesitation or regret.

Chloe huffs a laugh and moves toward him, then slides her hands up over his shoulders to bury her fingers in his hair. She arches up against him, the length of her body melding to his.

“You talk too much,” she whispers.

“Chloe,” he breathes, a smile ghosting across his face, and then he touches her, his hands slipping beneath her shirt to grab her around the waist and lift her up. She wraps her legs around him, then runs a line of kisses up his throat and nips at the delicate skin just below his ear. He slides a hand under her rear to support her, and his other hand remains beneath her shirt, mapping the curve of her spine before pushing against her, bringing her flush to him. His fingertips dig into her skin, his grip just shy of too tight, and the possessiveness of it thrills her.

Lucifer carries her to the bedroom and doesn’t even bother to let go of her, simply climbing onto the bed on his knees with her body still wrapped around his. They tumble onto the sheets together, and Chloe lands on her back beneath him, breathless with surprised laughter. He settles above her, her thighs still clenched around his waist, and holds himself up with one arm while he slides his other hand behind her head, tilting her face up to his. And then he kisses her.

This isn’t the soft kiss they shared on the beach so long ago. There is a hunger between them now, a desperate yearning that tenderness can’t satisfy. His mouth is hot and rough against hers, the kiss almost bruising in its intensity, and Chloe can’t get enough. She cradles his face with her hands, her thumbs tracing the line of his jaw, then catches his lower lip with her teeth. Heat flares between her legs when he makes that sound again, that short, soft moan in his throat.

She rolls her hips up toward him and Lucifer shifts slightly; the solid length of his erection brushes against her core, and she whimpers at the barely-there tease of friction. He frees his hand from behind her head and slides it beneath her to grab her ass and pull her closer, grinding himself against her. 

“Fuck,” Chloe gasps into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer heat and hardness of his obvious desire as he bears down on her.

Lucifer groans and pulls back slightly, breaking their kiss to catch his breath. Chloe gazes up at him, entranced by how utterly wrecked he already looks: his pupils blown, his hair a messy riot of waves, his lips parted and kiss-swollen.

God, he’s beautiful.

Something of that thought must show on her face, because the corner of Lucifer’s mouth curls up in amusement.

“See something you like?” he teases.

She rolls her eyes and swats at him, then begins to undo the buttons of his shirt. “I’d like it more if there was less clothing,” she remarks pointedly.

“Fair enough.” He grins as she loosens the last few buttons, then sits up on his knees to pull his arms free of his shirt. Chloe watches his shoulders flex, the muscles shifting beneath his skin, and she’s suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that she can do more than just look, now. She can touch. And, oh, how she wants to touch him.

She reaches for him, but he flinches away from her and blocks her hand with his own, catching her wrist in a firm grip. She’s forcibly reminded of another day, another time when she tried to touch him and he caught her hand in just the same way.

_Don’t. Please._

“What’s wrong?” she asks, pulse racing, and then her eyes land on the source of his distress. Lucifer stares at the diamond ring glittering on her finger for a long moment before relinquishing his hold on her. There’s an unfathomable anguish in his eyes, and Chloe’s heart swells to see him so distraught.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to do this, Detective,” he finally says, his voice hoarse, and Chloe’s stomach gives a sick little lurch at the return of her title. He’s using it intentionally, putting up a wall between them, and oh, how her heart aches to see him running away from her. Again.

With calm, deliberate movements, she raises her other hand to tug the ring from her finger. Lucifer opens his mouth—to protest its presence? To insist she keep it on?—but then he snaps his jaw shut with an audible click of his teeth and looks away from her, leaving the words unsaid.

Chloe shifts backward and up into a sitting position, then drops the ring on the nearest end table. Lucifer’s hands lie clenched on his thighs, his knuckles white, his head bowed. Chloe scoots closer to him, then kneels and reaches for his hands, coaxing the tension from his fists until he finally opens them and allows her to entwine her fingers with his.

“Hey,” she says, and waits for him to lift his head and look at her before continuing. “This is my choice, okay? I want this.”

His brow furrows, and he shakes his head at her. Chloe drops his hands to frame his face with her fingers and gazes into those warm brown eyes, making sure he truly sees her, _hears_ her. “I want you, Lucifer.”

To drive the message home, she closes her eyes and kisses him again. One, two, three frantic beats of her pulse pass without a response from him, and for a moment, she thinks she’s lost him to whatever doubts and insecurities still plague his thoughts.

And then he touches her, his hands coming up to cup her face, fingers splayed across her cheekbones and jawline, infinitely gentle. He parts his lips for her, deepening the kiss, and Chloe shivers, the banked heat between her legs flaring into an inferno once more.

Lucifer’s hands leave her face, his fingertips skimming along her throat and across the tops of her breasts before trailing down her sides to tug at the hem of her shirt. Chloe lifts her arms up to let him pull it off her, and he flings it over the side of the bed, heedless of where it lands. Then he surprises her by grasping her waist with both hands and hauling her into his lap, wrapping one arm around her to hold her steady. She finds herself sitting astride his thighs, her arms slung around his neck, her breasts pushed up against the warm expanse of his chest while he unhooks her bra one-handed with quick, clever fingers.

She shrugs out of it and tosses it in the same direction as her shirt, and watches Lucifer’s eyes darken as he gazes down at her bare breasts. Emboldened by his reaction, she leans back a little bit, trusting him to hold her up and allowing him a better view.

“You are absolutely stunning,” he murmurs, his eyes flicking back up to briefly meet hers. There’s something indecipherable in his dark gaze, but Lucifer doesn’t give her time to analyze that strange jumble of emotions, ducking his head to take a nipple into his mouth. 

Chloe inhales sharply as his lips and tongue tease that small, sensitive peak. He tightens his hold around her waist just as his teeth graze her skin, and she cries out at the ripple of sensation that courses through her body. His free hand cups her other breast, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, and Chloe arches into his caresses, her head falling back and her eyes fluttering closed, her hips shifting restlessly against him.

Her fingers tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck, and a pleased moan rumbles through him. He does something with his tongue, she’s not sure what, but the resulting bolt of pleasure that shoots straight to her aching core makes her gasp his name; her hips buck into him and her nails dig into his scalp, eliciting a guttural cry.

“Bloody hell, Chloe,” Lucifer groans against her breast, and she catches his face in her hands to capture his mouth in another kiss.

“I want _you,”_ she insists, and he laughs a little bit at her impatience.

“As you wish,” he says, and suddenly the arm around her waist vanishes, leaving her to fall backwards onto the bed again. Lucifer follows, kneeling between her spread legs. His deft hands unbutton her jeans and pull the zipper down, and then he hooks his fingers into the waistband and tugs the denim over her hips and thighs. She points her toes to help him slide the fabric over her feet; her jeans join the rest of her clothes on the floor. 

She’s wearing plain black panties, nothing exciting, but Lucifer sits back on his heels to stare at her. His eyes roam the length of her bare legs, drinking in her nearly-nude body as if she’s the most tempting thing he’s ever seen, and Chloe’s cheeks grow warm under the intensity of his awestruck gaze.

Lucifer brushes his fingers up her thighs, sending tingles across her skin. He reaches for the edge of her panties, but she pushes his hands away and gestures at his trousers. “You next.”

He chuckles at that and swings his legs off the side of the bed, almost leaping to his feet in his eagerness to comply. His hands go to his belt, making quick work of the buckle. Chloe shifts to sit on the edge of the mattress and hooks her fingers in his belt loops to tug him closer, her own hands taking over, releasing the button and zipper on his trousers and pushing them down to pool around his ankles. Lucifer promptly steps out of them.

He’s not wearing underwear, because _of course_ he’s not—easy access and all that—and Chloe only hesitates for a moment before taking hold of his considerable erection, wrapping one hand around the base and giving him a slow, experimental stroke. She looks up at him as she does so; he gazes down at her, his lips parted, his breathing unsteady. Without breaking eye contact, she licks her lips and presses a kiss to the head of his cock, her tongue flicking out to taste the bead of wetness at the tip. Lucifer groans, his hands sliding into her hair, and his fingertips tremble against her neck.

He’s nervous, Chloe realizes, momentarily stunned. Lucifer’s never shown anything other than complete confidence in his sexual prowess. But now he looks down at her with uncertainty in his gaze, touches her with shaking hands—why? What does it mean that here, now, with _her,_ he’s actually unsure of himself?

She watches him watching her, something akin to wonder in his eyes. He looks at her as if she lit the stars, and her heart flutters like the wings of a trapped bird as understanding finally dawns.

She instantly shoves the thought away to analyze later, or maybe never, because experience has shown her that Lucifer doesn’t do long-term relationships or serious commitments or—or _love,_ and if she keeps thinking about this she’s going to do something ridiculous, like burst into tears. 

So instead she closes her eyes to block out that expression on his face and takes his full length into her mouth, swallowing him deep, her tongue curling around him in slow circles. Lucifer makes a desperate sound, low and needy, his fingers tightening in her hair.

“Chloe,” he chokes out, one hand leaving her hair to trail his fingertips over her cheek.

She pulls off of him with a soft, wet _pop_ and gazes up at him, her free hand sliding up his thigh, fingers digging into the taut muscle. “Is this what you want?” she asks, her voice soft.

“ _Please,”_ he begs, resting his palm along her jawline and dragging his thumb over her lower lip. She nips at the pad of his finger, just to tease him, then slides his cock into her mouth once more and begins a steady rhythm, working him with lips and tongue and hand. She savors the soft, wordless cries that fall from his mouth as his pleasure builds, until his legs shake and he bucks roughly against her hold.

“Chloe, love, please,” he gasps, his grip on her hair just this side of too tight; she hums her assent and he groans as his release surges through him, spilling down her throat, while the sound of his voice calling her _love_ reverberates through her head on an endless loop.

But Lucifer doesn’t give her time to dwell on his choice of pet name, pulling away from her mouth and climbing onto the bed with single-minded determination in his eyes. He snakes an arm around her waist and drags her with him, easily tossing her onto the pillows as if she weighs nothing, and Chloe barely has time to laugh at his exuberance before he’s pushing her legs apart and lying down between them. He runs his hands up her thighs, his lips following, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her skin.

His thumbs stroke the edge of her panties where they rest in the creases of her thighs and Chloe inhales sharply, trembling at the light, teasing touch. Lucifer hooks his fingers through the waistband of her underwear and tugs; Chloe lifts her hips, allowing him to pull the final piece of clothing off of her. He throws her panties over his shoulder to land God knows where, and suddenly Chloe is naked in Lucifer’s bed. And yes, she’s been here before—heat flushes her cheeks at the hazy memory of her mortifying attempt to seduce him—but this time, she’s naked in Lucifer’s bed _with Lucifer._

His breath ghosts over the short-cropped curls between her legs, and he rests a hand low on her abdomen; she covers it with her own, entwining her fingers with his, and lifts her head to look down at him. Lucifer gazes back at her, his fingers tightening around hers.

“Is this all right?” he asks, and Chloe nods. He grins at her consent, his enthusiasm plain, and slips his hand from hers. Chloe sinks back against the pillows, her breathing shallow with anticipation.

Lucifer’s fingers lightly stroke the sensitive skin on either side of her labia, and then his thumb presses against her, nudging the delicate hood out of the way to expose her clit. He lays an open-mouthed kiss over that small bundle of nerves, and the heat of his mouth and his soft breath sends an unexpected rush of ecstasy through Chloe’s entire body, right down to her toes and fingertips.

“Oh, my Go—Lucifer,” Chloe gasps, remembering at the very last second his aversion to the G-word. But he must have caught her unintentional slip-up, because his mouth slides away from her clit; she makes a wordless sound of protest that turns into a sudden yelp as his teeth nip at her thigh in gentle admonishment.

She feels more than hears the laugh rumbling in his throat, and she raises herself up on her elbows to glare down at him. His eyes meet hers, bright with amusement, and she shifts her hips, restless, trying to direct his attention back to where she needs it most.

“Lucifer, please,” she says, collapsing back onto the bed and threading her fingers through his hair.

He hums his approval, and presses a tender kiss to her hipbone as he slips his fingers through her slick folds to tease at her entrance. She whimpers and rocks her hips, encouraging him to press further, but he only laughs lightly, his fingertips poised just out of reach.

“Say it again,” he says, and despite his amused tone, Chloe hears the command in his words. The quiet authority behind them thrills her, sending a fresh wave of need coursing through her body.

“Lucifer,” she breathes, and then inhales sharply as two long, elegant digits slide into her; the slight stretch of him filling her makes her shudder and tighten her grip on his hair as her body curves toward him.

“That’s better,” he says, insufferably smug. “It’s a bit rude to praise Him when I’m the one pleasuring you, you know.”

“You are unbelievable,” she scoffs, or tries to, anyway, but her words are cut short by the exquisite sensation of Lucifer’s fingers as he begins to pump an agonizingly slow rhythm inside her. A moment later, his tongue finds her clit once more, and her awareness of the world narrows down to just his hands, his mouth, and the overwhelming heat and tension mounting within her.

But it’s not enough just to feel him, and Chloe pushes herself up on one elbow, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as she stares at his dark head nestled between her thighs, his plush lips so soft on her skin. His eyes flick upward to her face, his gaze locking onto hers. There’s something unbearably sensual about him watching her unravel, and her inner muscles clench around his fingers as he brings her to the edge. 

Chloe cries out as she comes, her orgasm peaking and rolling through her, a series of cresting waves crashing through her body. Lucifer licks and strokes her through the aftershocks, until she keens and reaches down to still his hand, her overly-sensitive flesh desperate for respite.

“Fuck,” she sighs, closing her eyes and sagging back against the pillows.

Lucifer crawls his way up to her, leaving a trail of soft, damp kisses over her belly and between her breasts. His cock, hard once more, slides against her slick, swollen labia, and she gasps at the unexpected contact. He captures her mouth in a heated kiss, and Chloe moans at the taste of herself on his tongue, swiveling her hips against him. She revels in the feel of his hard length slipping along her wet lips and the occasional sweet shock that courses through her when he brushes her clit, and Lucifer’s breathing turns rough and uneven as she moves beneath him.

“Tease,” he murmurs fondly, trailing kisses down her throat and across her collarbones.

“Condom?” Chloe suggests, and then dissolves into giggles as Lucifer abandons his questing kisses and immediately lunges for the bedside table, nearly crushing her in his haste to retrieve the requested foil-wrapped packet from the drawer.

“Someone’s impatient,” she teases as he tears the packet open and sits up to roll the condom on.

“And justifiably so,” he huffs, but a smile flits across his face. “I’ve done a fair amount of waiting for this moment.”

“Mmm. I think we both have,” Chloe agrees. She beckons him closer; Lucifer settles himself between her legs, his hands on her bent knees, gently spreading them further apart to open her up to him. Then he leans forward, his hands leaving her legs to press into the mattress on either side of her shoulders. He watches her face as he carefully pushes into her, his expression almost reverent, and some nebulous ache swells in Chloe’s chest.

“Chloe?” Lucifer whispers, and his body immediately goes still; he must have noticed the sudden shine in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

She nods, her throat tight. “Yeah,” she assures him. “I just—this feels so…” She makes an aimless gesture encompassing him, and her, and the unknown _something_ that suffuses the space between them.

He gazes down at her, and she’s surprised by his expression of understanding. “Yes,” he says. “This, with you… it’s different.”

She bites her lip. “It is.” There’s a word stuck in her throat, but she won’t give voice to it, not tonight, not now, not when she’s already far too vulnerable to him. Instead, she cups his face in her hands and draws him down for a kiss. He slides further into her, seating himself fully inside her, and Chloe takes a deep breath, shifting her hips, allowing herself to adjust to him.

“Still good?” Lucifer asks.

“Great,” Chloe sighs, and he chuckles softly.

They move together, slowly at first, learning each other’s bodies, discovering the motions and touches that bring the most pleasure. Chloe skims her nails down his sides, and her name tumbles from his mouth, as vehement as any curse, but far sweeter. Lucifer wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, sucking a bruise into the tender skin above her collarbone; Chloe whimpers at the small sting of pain before Lucifer soothes it away with a gentle kiss. When he tilts his head back to catch his breath, Chloe leans up to trace the constellation of freckles on his throat with lips and tongue, and tastes the salt of sweat on his skin.

Lucifer groans and slides a hand beneath her, lifting her hips to thrust deeper, striking just the right spot inside of her, and Chloe finds herself chanting his name over and over, the sound of her voice becoming more and more breathless as he brings her to her peak once more. She slips a hand between their bodies, her fingers gathering her wetness, then presses tight, quick circles to her clit until she can’t hold back any longer; she clenches around him as she falls, stars exploding across her vision.

Lucifer thrusts once, twice, three more times, and then he goes still, every muscle taut with coiled tension. His mouth falls open and he breathes her name, his voice barely more than a whisper, and a shudder rolls through him as he pulses within her. His eyes never leave her face as he comes for her, and there’s a bright intensity in his gaze, a devotion so fierce it makes her breath catch in her throat.

He drops, his body suddenly pliant, and relaxes atop her, his sweat-slicked skin sliding against her own, his cock softening between her legs. He lays his head on her shoulder, his hair tickling her ear. Chloe turns to look at him, and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. He hums with satisfaction, a soothing rumble, and she smiles.

“Okay, I admit it. You’re good at this,” she sighs. Her body is warm beneath his weight, her muscles pleasantly sore.

“Told you so,” Lucifer quips. He rolls off of her to sit up on the edge of the bed and quickly disposes of the condom, then returns to her, stretching out alongside her, his body a long line of comfortable heat against her shoulder and hip and thigh. He props himself up on one elbow, cupping her face with his free hand, and his thumb strokes her cheekbone. She can’t help but turn her head to plant a kiss on his palm. The small gesture pleases him, she can tell; his eyes gleam, and he brushes his thumb across her mouth, tracing the curve of her lips.

A lump swells in her throat. If only he’d been like this back when they first attempted something more than just friendship. If only he hadn’t run away from her. If only he were more reliable. If only, if only, if only.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Detective,” he teases, completely oblivious to her internal struggle.

Chloe rolls her eyes at him and wiggles out from beneath his hand to sit up. She leans over the edge of the bed, picking her clothes up off the floor, and drops them into an untidy pile on the sheets beside her.

Lucifer eyes her warily as she fastens the hooks on her bra and slips her arms through the straps. “Where are you going?”

She slides her feet into her panties and jeans, then stands, tugging them up over her hips. She raises her eyebrows at his question. “Home? It’s late, Lucifer.”

“But we’ve only just begun,” he protests.

She picks up her shirt, turns it right-side-out, and pulls it down over her head. She knows from his countless stories of his wild escapades that he could literally go all night, but if she stays here any longer, torturing herself with what-ifs and could-have-beens, she’s going to fall apart right in front of him.

“Lucifer,” she says, keeping her voice steady. “I had a good time with you tonight, and I don’t regret a moment of it. But one great night isn’t a replacement for a solid, dependable relationship.”

Lucifer sits up. “Who says it has to be just one night?”

Her throat tightens as she looks at him, his brow furrowed, his eyes shining and earnest. She wants to believe he means it, that he can put in the work and effort necessary for an actual relationship, that he can somehow magically transform into a mature adult.

But they tried to go down that road once already, and it ended with her standing here in the penthouse, staring at a room full of covered furniture as all her tentative hopes crumbled around her. How can she give him the chance to hurt her like that again?

Chloe manages a small smile even as heat prickles at the corners of her eyes. “It’s okay, Lucifer. I’m not gonna ask you to be someone you’re not.”

She turns and heads down the stairs, finding her shoes near the elevator. As she slips them on, Lucifer disentangles himself from the sheets and grabs his robe, hurriedly throwing it around his shoulders as he follows her.

“Detective, wait.”

Chloe bites her lip and looks at him, taking in his deliciously mussed hair, his half-open robe, the tempting peek of his bare chest beneath the parted fabric. She knows what he feels like, now—the warmth of his skin under her hands, the heat of his mouth on her body, the heft of him inside her.

_I’m like walking heroin. Very habit-forming._ And oh, she believes it. Who wouldn’t get addicted to someone so passionate, so giving? In his bed, she became the center of the universe, his attention completely focused on her needs, her pleasure. He was utterly intoxicating.

_It never ends well._ She believes that, too. It’s easy to cherish someone for a single night, or make an occasional grand gesture, like a surprise prom or a sentimental birthday gift. But a relationship consists of more than just a series of beautiful, romantic moments. And keeping that up for days, months, years, while all of life’s little distractions and nuisances get in the way? That level of commitment requires a hell of a lot more effort.

Lucifer reaches for her, his fingers brushing the delicate skin of her wrist. Chloe steps away from him and shakes her head, scattering her thoughts.

“I have to go,” she says.

He holds out his hand, palm up. “You forgot this,” he says, his voice low and strained.

She stares at the ring lying in his outstretched hand, and a wave of revulsion rolls through her. The idea of putting it back on, of continuing to wear it, of going back to her wedding planning and becoming Marcus’s wife makes her want to fling the damned thing off the balcony.

“Here,” Lucifer says, and Chloe watches, dumbstruck, as he picks up her left hand and slides the ring oh-so-carefully onto her finger. It feels… _wrong_.

He smiles tightly at her, but there is no joy in it; his eyes darken with resignation. “Now you’re ready.” 

He lifts a hand, and she thinks he’s about to touch her. Instead, he reaches behind her and presses the button to call the elevator.

Chloe looks at him for a long moment. She thinks of how he breathed her name like the softest of prayers, and how he constantly puts himself in harm’s way for her; she thinks of his eagerness to please her, and his steadfast faith in her abilities when everyone else doubted her; she thinks of him sitting across a table from her and telling her she deserves someone better.

She thinks about how it felt to risk her heart the first time, only for him to break it; she thinks of Marcus, and of the chance to live a safe, comfortable life, one in which she never has to risk her heart again.

She looks at Lucifer and her stomach drops and her heart climbs into her throat. And she chooses.

“You’re right. I am ready.” She rises up onto her toes and kisses his cheek. “Thank you, Lucifer.” 

The elevator dings behind her, and the doors slide open. She turns away from him and steps inside, and her pulse quickens as she thinks of Marcus and the confrontation to come.

Chloe finds herself dreading it and welcoming it in equal measure.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to venividivictorious for the prompt <3  
> Thanks for reading!


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